Eyes as Old as Time
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: Perhaps the Universe makes bargains after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: This one has been bothering me for a few days until I finally decided to write it, then it got out of control.**

**Before you ask, yes, I did shamelessly steal the summary from 'The Snowmen'.**

**Now, there's an important thing for everyone who hasn't read **_**The Twilight Streets **_**(one of the Torchwood novels and also my hands-down favourite one). Greg Bishop was a character there and even though he died in the first two chapters, he and Jack were (on the brink of) having a thing and he was so much like Ianto in both looks and behavior that I immediately decided that they were the same person reincarnated or something. Which explains where this whole madness (a.k.a. story) came from. **

**The… thing in the beginning is from **_**The Waste Land**_** by T. S. Eliot.**

**Anyway, it's my first Torchwood fanfic and I'm sort of throwing myself headfirst into it with a bloody character study and I'm really nervous about it, so any feedback would be really appreciated. And, as always, enjoy. :)**

_Yet when we came back, late, from Hyacinth garden_

_Your arms full, your hair wet, I could not_

_Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither_

_Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,_

_Looking into the heart of light, the silence_

Jack could hardly believe that the place was still here at all as he kneeled on the ground near the still shiny gravestone with the simple words _Ianto Jones, 1983-2009; _words that had been chosen by his sister – probably the only person who had truly known him at all.

In the thirty-first century graveyards were out of the question for about two hundred years already – the Earth was overpopulated enough even without wasting space for the dead as well.

By the time it had happened, Jack had made sure to come and buy the place, just for the hell of it; just because he could still remember the look on Ianto's face in the House of the Dead when he had said, "At least you didn't forget me" – something between anger and relief that had sealed itself in Jack's mind. It often reminded him that even the ghosts sometimes needed comfort.

After that, Jack had paid a visit to his grave every year to keep it clean and as new as it had been all those years ago. He had built a small house about a hundred feet away from it – houses were a rare thing by that time as well, since everyone was trying to built blocks that were as tall as possible while barely taking any place at all. As far as he knew, most of the people who lived on that street thought that it had once been some kind of family mansion that was now abandoned.

"Well, here I am," he murmured as he sat down, right in front of the grave. "You would have loved that – a house on the name of Ianto Jones in 3009. Or you would have laughed at me for being an old sentimental fool; I'm not sure which one. But hey! Here I am. A thousand years later. Just as I promised."

A thousand years. Even he could barely grasp the idea. He had lived and died so many times, had loved and lost so many people, and each of them had been brilliant and special in their own way, and they all shone so brightly, tirelessly in his mind that sometimes he didn't think he could take it.

It was impossible to tell which one Jack had loved the most – love was something he either did or didn't feel – but he had taken special care to remember every little detail he could about Ianto. No matter how painful it had been, he had felt the need to do it and even now, a millennium later, Jack could still remember the way Ianto kissed, or the way his touch felt when he tentatively took Jack's hand in his when they were out on a so-called date (which almost every time ended up in trying to save the world from alien invasion), or the way he had sometimes smiled in his sleep; all the ghosts that seemed to haunt him through the day gone for once as he subconsciously snuggled closer to his lover. Even the way he smelled freshly out of the shower took a place in the immortal's mind.

He had built the house after Rhiannon's death and had moved each of Ianto's possessions he could find and, when he came to visit Earth at all, Jack stayed there for a few days. Ianto had always wanted so much to leave a mark behind and his actual flat had been destroyed years ago, and Jack had decided, just for once, to let the ghost of someone he loved linger. The least he could do was keep here, on Earth, something that resembled Ianto's home.

"'S been a long year," he said with a sigh. This place was pretty much the only one where he could tell someone everything that had happened to him – absolutely everything, no matter if it was the silliest thing in the world or his darkest secrets. "Remember Layla? I told you about her last year. We got married six months ago. Naturally, she's dead now." He took in a trembling breath. "Explosion. Our ship blew up and guess who turned up twelve hours later. Unlike her." His voice broke. "Unlike anyone."

"Excuse me, are you by any chance my landlord?" A soft, too familiar voice asked and Jack froze where he was.

"Sorry?" Disbelief – not provoked only by the voice, but the absurdity of the question as well – pouring out of that word, he turned around and looked up.

A young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, was staring down at him, carefully arranged lack hair surrounding the pale face and the clear blue eyes. He was most likely over six feet tall – taller than Jack himself – and had cheekbones that many people would commit a crime for.

Yep, Jack though, he was finally losing it. He was rather intrigued that it had taken so long. After all, while his body was not impressed by the years passing by, no human brain was designed for going through two thousand years buried alive and more than one thousand apart from that, especially with the nice dressing of all sorts of emotional traumas. There was no way he _wasn't_ going to go insane at some point, and now was as good a time as any.

The man's face went white and his cheeks flared red and Jack instinctively knew what was the matter – he was embarrassed for interrupting someone in the middle of something so personal.

"God, I'm so sorry!" He stammered, eyes going wide. "I didn't know."

"It's alright." Jack's mouth seemed to be working solely on its own.

"Was that his house?" The young man asked and Jack found himself nodding.

"You could say that."

"Oh. Did you know him?" Calm blue eyes glanced at the dates graved in the stone and he laughed softly in a way that made Jack's heart ache. He couldn't explain why someone in year 3009 would know someone born in the twentieth century, but then again, he couldn't explain anything even to himself right now, so he kept quiet. "Sorry, of course you didn't. James, by the way. James Wikam."

"Captain Jack Harkness." The latter had finally stood up to shake the man's hand while his mind worked on full power.

First of all: if he was making this up, then why did his hallucination have a different name? Second, the man's touch felt steady and _real_ and Jack was pretty sure that his insanity couldn't have gone that far. And third, there was the distinct feeling that _this was not the first time this was happening_.

Not seeing Ianto while sitting near the man's grave, of course. But seemingly meeting the same person many years later when said person was supposed to be dead? Someone who had turned up out of the blue when they had died in his arms? Yes.

He remembered seeing Ianto for the first time in that forest with the Weevil. After the first initial shock that some guy had come out of nowhere and beaten the alien with a _stick_, Jack had seen his face and had desperately started trying to avoid him.

Because, almost seven decades earlier, he had known a man called Greg Bishop who had had the same smile and quiet façade that hid a deep, passionate nature and a brilliant mind.

Jack had been quite certain back then as well that his own mind was playing tricks on him. Just a while after that, when he had hired Ianto and said man came to work on his first day, Jack had been mildly surprised that his employees could see their new co-worker as well.

And here he was again - Greg, Ianto or whatever else he liked to call him - looking at him patiently.

"Nice to meet you, Captain Harkness." A small smile was playing on James's lips that, Jack knew from the man's both predecessors, he though that the immortal had not completely come to his senses yet/was drunk/both and he needed to be spoken to slowly and with a bit of fond tiredness - a patronizing, gentle smile that took his breath away.

And those eyes. No wonder they looked, always had looked, so old - extremely old for such a young face.

James held up some newspaper and that finally took Jack out of the trap of his own memories. "It was in here." He pointed at the photo which indeed contained the house and its precise address, neither of which Jack had actually posted anywhere. "Suppose it was a mistake, though. Mind you, don't you look surprised to see me."

Don't I indeed, Jack thought as he desperately tried to chase away the idea that was starting to form in his mind. The feeling was long-forgotten and he vaguely remembered repeating stubbornly that there were no vacancies and that he wasn't hiring. James was much easier to avoid. He could simply tell him that there'd been a mistake and chances were they would never see each other again.

But suddenly, he realised that he didn't want that. It'd been four months since Layla's death; four months of pain and guilt and loneliness and he wasn't sure how much more of it he would be able to live through.

James wasn't Ianto and/or Greg. The logical part of Jack's brain was well aware of that. His clothes were different and suitable for this century; Greg would have been awed from the recycled fabric and Ianto would have probably studied it for hours. His whose being radiated natural confidence that both men had lacked. Even the way he talked was slightly different – the rules of the English language had changed and simplified several times for the last couple of centuries.

And yet, there was the same little spark in his eyes; something clever and determined and so, so familiar.

This was a bad idea, he was sure of it.

It was probably the worst idea he had ever had.

It was irresistible.

"The house." Jack cleared his throat. "Yes! Of course. No, it's not a mistake."

James's smile grew wider.

"Great. You know, 've always wanted a house. Everyone told me that nobody's had one in _ages_, especially in the middle of Cardiff, y'know, so I couldn't believe when I saw it."

Jack decided it wasn't the best idea to tell him that he couldn't believe it too.

Well. James was certainly more talkative than Greg and Ianto (Jack's common sense made a desperate attempt to tell him that reincarnation was something non-existent and that it was just a coincidence. Pity he didn't really believe in those anymore) and yet quiet, considering the age he lived in – people in the thirty-first century were much more open to everyone and everything in general.

"Is that all you've got?" Jack asked, looking at the relatively small trunk that James was carrying.

The man nodded distractedly as he kept taking in the house and its surroundings. "Yeah. It's my job. I travel a lot."

"Really?" Jack wasn't sure what a landlord was supposed to act like and if it was okay to ask a lot of questions, but then again, it _was_ 3009. Basically everything was okay. "What are you working on?"

James's eyes suddenly lit up with excitement. "One of the new spaceships. More like a starship, y'know? Not for scientific discoveries and such. It's smaller and there're windows all over. But expensive, but worth it. Everything's worth it for that, I'd say."

"Worth for what?"

"Seeing it all." The thought seemed to be almost overwhelming to the young man and Jack was delighted to note that he wasn't blushing and stuttering as he was just a few minutes ago. "Just going up there to see the stars. The planets. Everything there is."

"Then yes." Jack suddenly felt as if something heavy was stuck in his throat; he could hardly breathe. "It is worth it." He tried to force himself to get back the matter at hand. "So. Would you like the grand tour?"

"Of course. Anything you want me not to touch?"

Jack shook his head. "Not really. All yours. Except for the spare room on the second floor. When I come around, I use it sometimes."

"How often is sometimes?" James's eyes widened as he apparently realised how his words could be taken. "I meant– D'you stick around? I wouldn't mind."

"Are you seriously asking me if I come here often?" Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He was in front of the house that was meant for his lover a thousand years after his death and was flirting with a guy who acted and looked just like him and had turned up here God knows how. And half of it wasn't even happening for the first time. He was getting more and more certain each year that the Universe had a really twisted sense of humour when it came to him.

Then James laughed exasperatedly at Jack's words and the look on his face was one he had seen way too many times to be considered an accident and, as he took James's hand and led him into the house to show him around, he thought that maybe, just maybe, the Universe had finally decided that she owed him a miracle or two.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: I got so carried away with this and I am so sorry. I know that Greg's flashback is longer than Ianto's, but since I think that even in the book he got a smaller part than this one here, I think he deserves it.**

**Second thing I'm sorry for here is the constant Doctor Who hints that are dropped here and there; I just couldn't help myself. There aren't really any spoilers; even those of you who've watched it are most likely not to notice it.**

**Anyway, I have a question. I know that this chapter ends pretty much nowhere and I've got the third (and most likely last) one already half-written and I wanted to ask if you'd like me to post it when it's ready. It's going to be fairly darker than this one and I'm not really sure about it, so I'm asking about your opinion.**

**The songs used in the beginning. The first one I saw somewhere, I wrote it down in my fanfic notebook because I liked it, then I started writing this fic and it seemed fitting, but when I google it, literally nothing even relatively close to it shows up. So credit to whoever owns it, there's a disclaimer in my profile, and so on and so on. The second one used here is The Way You Look Tonight by Billie Holiday.**

**On to the fic now. I hope you enjoy it and, just like always, feedback is most appreciated.**

_There's eternity in your eyes_

_The flesh and the bones, they are only disguises across_

_A world to be lost and beneath_

_Our opinions and beliefs_

Jack's eyes opened as he slowly forced himself back into consciousness and gratefully let his latest dream fade away.

He'd been having nightmares for a week already, ever since they were in orbit around an unknown planet neither of them knew anything about (well, _he_ hadn't. It was James's first travel in outer space and he barely knew the names of any of the planets they visited).

As if he had summoned the man with his thoughts, James appeared in the doorway, wearing a simple black t-shirt, light blue jeans and a worried expression.

"You alright here, Jack?" There were deep shadows under the younger man's blue eyes and Jack knew why – he's been having nightmares too. The immortal nodded - a barely noticeable movement which was all he could do right now – and sat up on the bed, despite his body's attempt to drag him back down, trying to focus his eyes on James.

"Yes. Sure. Never better."

His partner gave him a disbelieving look that meant he'd seen right through him once again, and Jack sighed.

He had spent the last two years with James, at first just a landlord, then a friend and later, as they grew closer, as something more. He had shared the whole immortality thing with him, mostly to avoid questions when he first died in front of him. James had reacted well enough and Jack guessed that there wasn't really all that much that could surprise someone from the thirty-first century.

When James had finished his work on the two starships (which were a part of a much bigger project, but also controlled solely by him as their creator), he had sold the first one and that gave him enough money to take a pretty long journey through the universe. That combined with Jack's knowledge and the fact that he'd invested in the right companies for centuries (being born in the faraway future had its benefits sometimes) made things even better.

"You don't need to lie to me," James murmured as he kneeled down on the floor and took Jack's hands in his. "I know. It's been happening to you too, right?" When the Captain's eyes pointedly avoided his, James sighed. "Let me take care of you, Jack."

_I don't need to be taken care of_. He didn't say it out loud, but the ghost of another conversation, so long ago, lingered around him.

_Jack watched with mild curiosity as Ianto fussed around the pace, looking for antiseptic._

"_You do know that you don't need to do that, don't you?" He asked carefully. Ianto nodded as he finally found the bottle and fell on his knees near the sofa in his usual unintentionally graceful manner._

"_Give me your hand." His voice was soft and, when Jack complied, he rolled the man's sleeve up and started cleaning the (already) superficial wound._

"_Ianto–" Jack really though that this was quite unnecessary. The thing would heal on its own eventually, and it would spare him the pain from someone poking around it – which was what Ianto was currently doing._

"_You might get an infection. That– whatever it was, frankly, really got to you." When Jack opened his mouth to protest, Ianto locked his eyes with his Captain's and that successfully silenced him. "You didn't die, so you're not going back to factory settings. If that gets infected, it will stay that way."_

"_Not for all that long–"_

"_Let me take care of you, Jack." Ianto cut him off, still staring intently at him._

"_I don't need to be taken care of." He had lowered his voice without realising it and felt rather stupid for falling for the man's tricks, especially the glaringly obvious ones like this._

_Ianto shook his head. "I think you do. Sometimes you do."_

_And with that, he quietly got back to work without another word from any of them._

"Yes," he muttered in resignation. "For the last week, every night."

It was almost painfully familiar, this whole situation. The only difference was the location – instead of Ianto's neat flat he was in James's equally neat starship, and instead of seeing the gloomy sky above Cardiff outside, he could see stars and nebulas and galaxies and – just as James himself had put it in two years ago – everything there was.

"Me too." The man in question said. His voice sounded normal, just a little tired, and if Jack didn't know him so well, he would've let it slip his attention. As it was, he immediately turned to him and saw just what he had expected.

James's eyes had suddenly filled with some kind of anguish Jack had seen quite a few times on his face and he felt the sudden urge to kick himself. Repeatedly.

While he'd told James everything about his immortality, and some things about his past as well, he had never bothered to wander into the 'Ianto and Greg' territory. It would have been painful for both of them, or that was what he'd thought, but he had forgotten who exactly he was dealing with here.

James had picked up soon enough that whoever Ianto was, it meant something to Jack – which, ironically, led him to do what Ianto himself had done every time he wanted to find something and was irritated when Jack refused to tell him.

Research.

It turned out that even in the thirty-first century, Ianto Jones was something like a legend for every other kid that wanted to go out there to protect the world against hostile aliens and the story of the 456 which Jack heard from James was slightly different from reality ('slightly' meaning that it was barely recognisable), but he kept his mouth shut.

What had actually made things go wrong between him and James, though, was the photo the man had managed to find. He had stormed into Jack's room, a print of said photo in one hand and a furious expression on his face, asking for further explanation.

Reluctantly, Jack had told him most of it (even the actual story about 456, despite it containing a considerable lot less explosions and massive guns) and, when asked, had admitted that their significant resemblance was what had intrigued him at first sight.

What he hadn't mentioned, and had no plans of mentioning, was that he was still pretty much feeding his insanity by thinking that they were, in fact, the same person. And that it didn't come to James, in his own words, 'competing with a ghost', as much as it came to him being the ghost itself.

And, while they had cleared that up neatly a year ago, James still just _knew_ somehow when Jack was zoning out sometimes and when he was being reminded – by a word or a place or even a shirt – how similar they were.

He loved James; loved him dearly despite saying the actual words very rarely. He wasn't a replacement as he seemed to think sometimes – it was just that Jack couldn't shake off the feeling that, no matter how much he tried to tell them apart and have them stay that way in his mind, he simply loved the same soul over and over again.

He couldn't bear seeing that look in James's eyes, so he just reached for him and brought him closer in his embrace, trying to tell his lover all of that with his hands and body and mouth, as he kissed his forehead, like he always did.

And for now, it seemed enough. They had chased each other's nightmares away.

_Oh, but you're lovely, with your smile so warm_

_And your lips so soft_

_There is nothing for me_

_But to love you_

_Just the way you look tonight_

"Oh, so it was my fault?"

"Of course it was your fault; _you_ were the one why designed the damn thing!"

"But you were the one flying it, _Captain_."

"Oh, don't you Captain me. We ran out of fuel! Who runs out of fuel in _outer space_?"

"Well, someone irresponsible, I'd say, _since you were the one supposed to fuel it_!"

"No, I wasn't! You said you'd do it when we landed on Adipose-3!"

"Interesting. I distinctly recall saying, 'You've got to refuel the ship'."

"Don't you think I'd remember that?"

"Surprisingly enough, I don't! I wonder why. Maybe because you always manage to forget the most important–"

James's voice died as suddenly the smoking crater they had formed by landing was filled with flashing lights and someone was pulling them on their feet. Jack tried to shield his eyes – mostly unsuccessfully, as someone shoved a microphone in his face.

Cameras. There were cameras everywhere. He felt the slightest bit embarrassed that everyone – which, in this case probably meant half the world – had heard their bickering in what was supposed to be a somewhat heroic moment. About five feet away from him, James was blinking rapidly against the lights as someone shot questions at him.

The woman in front of Jack – a journalist, apparently – turned back to face the cameraman behind her with a bright smile on her face. "And here we are now with the first who returned from the 'Alaska' starships project. How are you feeling?" The last was aimed at Jack, who tried to focus.

"I... fine. We're okay. No major injuries."

He almost regretted saying it. Maybe if there were major injuries, they would leave them alone. After the quiet, surreal feeling of deep space, this was too much. The troubled look James gave him told Jack that his partner thought precisely the same thing.

"What happened? Why did you crash? How long were you up there?" The journalist restlessly showered him with questions and another look to his right proved that James was currently experiencing the same thing.

"We ran out of fuel. 'Ve been there for a year," he was saying, so Jack refrained for response, but the woman showed no mercy.

"Did you find anything that hasn't been reached before? Any story you could tell us, perhaps?"

Ah, this was a familiar territory. At least. Jack, who had already gathered his wits, smiled dashingly at her.

"But of course. You see, there was this planet with four suns and one of them was cold. Their gravitating field was so strong that the seasons changed every twenty-six hours. Its habitants looked a bit like sharks with legs and they had those furs – said they took them from some animals living in the caves up in the mountains – and they put them on every time winter came along, because their bodies couldn't get used to the temperatures fast enough. The trees didn't have leaves and there were no plants at all. The sharks had never eaten anything but smaller fish – eighty percent of this planet was water, I'm telling you – so when we gave them chocolate, just to let them try it, there was this one guy who said that he'd proclaim us for emperors is we bring 'em more. I would've gladly done it, but James thought it was a bad idea. And then there was this place..."

For the rest of the evening they were dragged from one TV channel to another and Jack was in his element. James, who wasn't the greatest fan of talking was completely lacked fondness when it came to any sorts of cameras, just quietly listened and tried to suppress his desire to laugh or blush whenever the stories got too exaggerated or too detailed.

"The only ones who came back," James murmured, his head in Jack's lap as the other man absently played with his hair. "What d'you think happened to the others?"

They were sitting on a bench in the garden of their house. The sky was unusually clear – and definitely more so when it was Greg and Ianto looking up at the stars at night. Humanity had reversed some of their mistakes, after all.

"Who knows. Maybe they've stayed longer on some planets."

"Or maybe they didn't forget to fuel their ship." James's tone became very pointed and Jack groaned.

"Oh, don't start that again. Your ship is fine. The mechanic told me that he'll need less that a month to fix it completely. Just enough time to organise things a bit here, buy provisions again and find a few more alien dictionaries. I could do with knowing another language or two."

"That thing on your wrist translated everything anyway." James laughed softly and Jack shrugged. The last time he had been in the TARDIS – so long ago that it was just a faint memory in the pile of thousands of others – he had managed to modify his Vortex Manipulator a bit so it would have the same translating abilities as the Doctor's ship, just before the Time Lord had disabled his teleport again.

"That it does, but I just like the way the languages sound," he admitted.

"Less than a month. I can't wait." James's eyes sought his and he smiled. "Y'know, now that I've been up there, Earth seems so small. When there're so many other planets I've been to, how can I stay here, just looking at them, when I know I could see them up close; see every creature and every star that lights its planet?"

Yet another strong wave of déjà-vu overwhelmed Jack and he was rather surprised – after all, the last time it had happened, he had been half asleep and slightly shaken by the continuous presence of nightmares every time he closed his eyes. He sighed ruefully. That meant he couldn't excuse his sudden, involuntary almost-visions with tiredness any longer.

_The park was unusually quiet for Saturday evening in July. There were still some people walking around, though, which forced Jack and Greg into keeping at least some respectable space between one another._

_Greg was wordlessly staring up at the sky; his eyes wide and full of wonder._

"_You know, we work every day to protect the world from everything up there." His voice was barely audible as his gaze drifted back to Jack. "Sometimes we try to protect the everything from the world as well. And yet, we can't even bring them back home. We can't even visit what they call home."_

_Jack shrugged, unable to resist the urge to show off. He'd been trying to impress the young man for a long time now, and while it seemed to be working, he kept up the hard work._

"_I've visited some," he said, managing to make it sound like it wasn't that much of a surprise, but Greg's eyes lip up with excitement nevertheless._

"_Really? Have you ever been on Mars?"_

"_Yes. Why?"_

_Greg's cheeks coloured lightly. "_War of the Worlds_ was my favourite book as a kid."_

_Jack couldn't help but chuckle quietly._

"_Martians are nothing like that," he assured him. Greg didn't look disappointed; quite on the contrary, actually, it only seemed to encourage him further._

"_No? And what are they like, then?"_

"_A whole lot smaller – when they're out of their armours, of course. They're a bit like the Daleks, but not so hostile – when you look at them, they seem and act like a big deal, but once you see what's on the inside–"_

"_Daleks?"_

_Sigh. "Never mind."_

"_It's one of those things you can't tell me anything about, right?" Greg asked with a sigh of its own and Jack almost wished he could tell him. Instead, he shook his head._

"_Yes. Sorry. Your first contact is meant to be in–" Well, in three years or something, actually, and Jack was pretty sure that Churchill had been involved somehow, but the world hadn't seen them then. He pretended to check his watch. "Sixty-eight years, or that's when everyone notices them. Torchwood's first contact is in sixty-five years, and it's Torchwood London. Even I try to stay away when it comes to that, because I've got a feeling it's going to affect me in some way, so I'm not really supposed to know about it."_

"_You think you're going to be there?" Back then, Jack was known by his colleagues as the undying immortal freak who occasionally ventured in and out of Torchwood and since that was the legacy Emily and Alice had left behind, it was impossible to hide. Jack liked giving at least a tiny pieces of truth to his lovers and Greg's was the fact that he had once been a Time Agent. He shrugged again._

"_Not exactly. But it'll have something to do with me; I felt it many years ago. I was curious and I wanted to check it out and then I got that sick feeling that just _screamed_ that I'm messing with my own timelines, so I stopped."_

"_I wouldn't have been able to." Greg admitted. "I would have wanted to meet myself."_

"_And rip the universe apart? I don't think so."_

_His partner's eyes widened. "You can rip the universe apart just by meeting yourself?"_

"_Most people can't but, well, you know me, Can you imagine two of me in the same place?"_

_Greg laughed softly and moved just an inch closer to Jack, looking up again. "Which one's Mars?"_

"_This one." Jack pointed at a familiar-looking dot with all the confidence he could muster._

"_Are you sure?"_

_He wasn't. "Of course I am. I've been there quite a few times."_

"_I repeat, are you sure?" Greg's mouth twitched slightly as he tried to keep the smile off his face._

"_Are you doubting me, Greg Bishop?" Despite his wounded tone, Jack couldn't hide the amusement in his voice._

"_You could say so, Captain." The man said lightly. Since it was really late already, there was no one left in the park but them and Greg took Jack's hand in his, pulling him closer and in for a kiss. It was unusually forward of him to do such a think and Jack found himself enjoying it greatly and, just for a moment, he forgot even the stars they've been looking at mere seconds ago._

It wasn't exactly a question, but Jack answered anyway.

"You can't," he said at last, pretending to have thought about it until now. "And you don't need to. As soon as the ship's ready, we're leaving. Off to the next planet to discover."

It was yet the same gleam, the same innocent awe he saw in James's eyes that reminded him of that night all those years ago and for a second, as James sat up and brought him closer for a kiss too, jack could swear that the blue irises an inch away from his held more than any planet he could ever find.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: Well, this is most likely the last one. As I said, it's got more angst than the last two, but I'm still sort of satisfied with it. Sort of. And, in case you didn't catch up, which is unlikely, Jack is reading Harry Potter.**

**To those of you who liked James – I'm sorry for killing him off! But I really wanted to introduce another one. I actually've got some ideas about him and I might write them in a one-shot. At some point.**

**For now, I hope you enjoy this one too and I'd really like to hear what you think about it. (: The song used in the beginning is**_**Black Flies**_** by Ben Howard.**

_The sky is no man's land_

_Comfort came against my will_

_And every story must grow old_

_Still I'll be a traveller_

_But the road is wearier with that fool found in your place_

All though the star whale's long life the crew of the Starship UK had tried to find some way to keep the ship going in case something happened to the alien that was currently carrying it on its back and, even though many centuries had passed before that, it had eventually died. They hadn't done anything to it – not again – but it hadn't been exactly young when it had came to Earth and, thankfully, when it died of old age, the newly-built engines had been ready to start.

Without the star whale and despite the advanced technology that had been poured into the ship, it still needed someone to fly it. If he had to be honest, Jack had no idea why they had asked him. The title 'Captain' had never actually meant anything, mostly because it was stolen, but people seemed desperate enough to hire anyone who dared to call himself a captain as long as he said that he could handle the ship.

And Jack could. He had built and operated hundreds of ship (he had actually been in one when Elizabeth the Eleventh had found him) and he had no reason to decline the offer – there wasn't really anything he was leaving behind.

So here he was now, in the pilot's cabin supposedly reading some book while he was actually just staring ahead. The ship didn't need a lot of attention (most of the time it flied itself), so he could do whatever he wanted with his time while he wasn't busy.

Something had changed, or at least that was what he had thought at the beginning. The Earth shouldn't have been left _now_, because if it had been, he wasn't sure how he was even alive. He had been born in the fifty-first century and the planet was still populated. Yes, his parents had been from the colonies too, but even the colonists had come from Earth, right? He had never traced his family tree far behind enough to be sure.

And yet, the fact that he felt almost _disappointed_ when he didn't just snap out of existence was rather scary.

He was tired. So tired. Who would guess that when he was thousands of years old, the only thing he'd want was the first wish of a lost child – to go home? Not him, certainly, but recently, he had thought more and more about it. There was no question of actually doing it, even if everything with Earth was fine – what would he do, go visit him parents? This could cause a thousand paradoxes all at once.

Ah, paradoxes. Jack felt his lips curl into a smile despite himself. If there was still some kind of hope for him left, it was on its way right now. He knew it.

Almost one thousand and five hundred years had passed since James's death. It had happened just like with Ianto and Greg before him – with his eyes wide, almost in disbelief, as he gently touched Jack's arm and then closed his eyes and looked like he had finally found peace.

_After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. _He'd seen it somewhere in the book he was currently reading. It had turned out to be so true for them – for him. Greg had smiled at him just a second before dissolving into the blinding light. Ianto had, for the first time since they knew each other, asked Jack for something _he_ wanted – not to be forgotten. And, after Jack's promise, he had closed his eyes and the next thing he remembered were the bodies everywhere around them and Gwen crying next to him. He had then seen Ianto lying on the ground and not looking the slightest bit dead – still in his spotless suit and even an almost-smile on his face that always appeared when things had gone the way he'd wanted them too.

And then there was James, yet again dying in his arms with the same blue eyes staring up at him. He had died at the age of 28, a long way away from home and he had been surprisingly happy about it. He'd said he had seen everything and he didn't regret any of it.

Worse still, he had died in a war. Greg had been mourned by his team and Ianto had, apparently, been treated as some sort of alien-chasing James Bond (which he would have loved and Jack could almost imagine the smug expression on his face if he was to ever learn it), but James was considered just another victim; just another soldier dying for a cause that wasn't his.

Jack sighed softly. He had been in his room for half an hour already – and it seemed to be a bad idea, but he was waiting for a call. He knew that if he spent another year mostly by himself, he would probably go insane, so he had asked for a co-pilot; someone he would teach to fly the ship too. Some company would do him good.

Just as he decided to give up and return a few hours later, Jack heard the device on his wall (one resembling a phone, but – as everything else now – simplified) beeping and quickly stood up from his place on the bed.

"Jack, are you there?" A woman's voice asked tentatively.

"Celine!" He tried to sound cheery enough. She tended to worry about him sometimes, and it always made him slightly uncomfortable. "Any good news?"

"Actually, yes." The faint sound of papers being moved around could be heard. "I found you a man."

"That's what I like to hear."

An irritated snort. "Jack, could you please be serious for at least five minutes?"

"But of course. I'm trying to. Go on."

"Okay. He's Welsh."

"Who would guess," Jack muttered and heard Celine laugh on the other end of the line. Despite his tone, he could feel an excitement he really wasn't supposed to encourage building up inside him.

"Yeah, I know," she said, apparently misunderstanding his words. "But he's good, I promise. The best, in fact. You know, since you said you were looking for a junior pilot, everyone's been trying to get to you. Can't say I blame them." There was a hint of appreciation in her voice, and Jack would have probably went with it – it wouldn't be the first time he'd slept with he, no one seemed to really have a problem with that and she would be a much-needed distraction – if he wasn't so focused on his soon-to-be colleague.

It had to be him. It just _had_ to be.

"But you picked this one," he managed at last.

"Yeah." Celine cleared her throat. "Like I said, he was the best. Worked his way up through the ranks for three months or something. Turned thirty just a few days ago."

"Really? Which months is it?" There it was again, the same anticipation that very much resembled the feeling of coming back to life after a particularly violent death – suddenly the darkness seemed to be chased away and everything came to him with such an overwhelming intensity that he felt like he'd never felt anything properly before.

"August. Seriously, Jack, when was the last time you got out of that hole of yours? You don't need to answer," she hurried to add. "I can hear you smirk, you know."

Jack did not doubt that in the slightest.

"Name?"

"Gideon Holroyd."

Holroyd. Oh dear. If, while waiting for a man that seemed to appear each millennium or so, he had actually run into some faraway descendant of his lovely boss in 19th century's Torchwood, he wasn't sure if he would be able to take it.

"What does he sound like?"

"What?"

"His accent. You know. What does it sound like?"

"You can be dead weird sometimes, you know that, right? He'll call you in a moment." And with that, she hung up.

Jack had little time to wonder as, just a few seconds later, the phone made its presence known again. He held his breath.

"Hello?"

"Captain Harkness, Sir?" The man in question closed his eyes. It was him. Oh God, it was him.

Ianto – Jack like that name best and Ianto had also been the first one he had had the chance to properly fall in love with, which was why he always referred to him that way – seemed to appear in his darkest days only. First it had been Greg, during the war when there had been several versions of Jack running around the UK anyway and, being stuck on the slow path, he couldn't really step away from Cardiff. Greg had been the reason for Jack to work for Torchwood, which gave him some sort of purpose in his life.

Then it had been Ianto. Just after Canary Wharf, when he had thought that Rose was dead and he had missed the Doctor by a few _hours_ – again – after he'd been waiting for more than a century. Ianto, the one who had came out of the ashes of the destroyed Torchwood One, had been the one to give him hope when he needed it most.

James had appeared precisely a thousand years after Ianto had died and while the wounds left by Layla's death were still fresh. James had been the one to help _him_ come out of the ashes; to show him that the universe could become beautiful once more.

And here he was again. Jack pressed a few buttons on his keypad and the computer screen of his room showed him level zero and the man waiting in front of the lift.

The immortal felt the slightest bit stupid when he turned to face the mirror on his wall; first impressions being the most important ones and everything.

He had, of course, barely changed since James and even since Ianto. There were just a few more likes around his eyes and they looked a bit tired, but soon enough that would be fixed.

What came as shock was the change in Ianto, sorry, Gideon. So that what any of them would have looked like if they had reached thirty – still the same boyish features, but a little more maturity about him now. He was wearing a uniform and – you must be joking – a red cap that seemed to be a part of it. His hair was just a bit shorter and his eyes, bright and impatient, suddenly found the camera and he smiled – that brilliant, breathtaking smile of his and that was what made Jack snap out of his trance.

"Captain here."

"You can see me, can't you, Sir?"

Jack couldn't help but smile in return, even though he knew the other man couldn't see him.

"Yes, I can." He pressed yet another button. "I'm giving you access to the lift. Come up here."

"Of course, Sir." There was barely a pause. "Gideon Holroyd, in case they haven't told you."

"Holroyd... D'you mind spelling it out for me? I've still got some documents to fill in." It was childish of him, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't heard that voice in so long.

"H-O-L-R-O-Y-D. Level fifty-three, right?"

Ah. There it was. The accent he'd been asking about.

"Absolutely. I'm unlocking the doors now. Consider yourself welcome."

Jack stood up to get his keys from the part of the room which was saved for all sorts of training equipment (it completely lacked logic, but at least he always remembered where they were in the morning instead of stumbling around in the darkness) and indeed unlock said doors when he heard the lift stopping nearby and then the heavy thumping of military boots on the floor outside.

Feeling a shiver of long-forgotten excitement run through him, Jack threw his keys back where they've been and closed his eyes yet again, leaning against the wall, as he could almost hear his heart beating rapidly, singing in his chest. Soon, soon he would be home.


	4. Epilogue

**Author's Notes: Sorry, I know I said I wouldn't, but the idea of an epilogue just kept torturing me so I decided to write it and once it was done, it seemed stupid not to post it. The Rift and someone else much needed (in my opinion, since the story comes full circle) make an appearance as a bonus.**

**Also, that person is someone I can write when it's his point of view, but not from the outside, so I'd really like to hear your opinion, because I'm rather anxious about it.**

**The song used both times is **_**Little Talks**_** by Of Monsters and Men. I hope you enjoy it. (:**

_You're gone, gone, gone away_

_I watched you disappear_

_All that's left is a ghost of you_

_Now we're torn, torn, torn apart_

_There's nothing we can do_

_Just let me go, we'll meet again soon_

"Captain?" Celine's voice was more careful than he had ever heard it. "The ship's stabilised."

"I know." He hadn't uttered a word in so long that his voice cracked. "I was the one who stabilized it, after all."

"Yes. Of course you did. I'm sorry." She had started playing with a lock of her fair hair and Jack decided to put her out of her misery. With a half-hearted gesture, he invited her to the only other chair in the room.

"It's nothing."

"Anyway." She cleared her throat. "I actually came to tell you that since everything's under control now, you can go and – you know, say goodbye."

At that, he started laughing and, since there was a definite hysterical note to it, the woman gave him another concerned look, now even more evident than before.

He wasn't angry anymore. He wasn't crying or screaming or throwing things across the room just because someone, _something,_ had to pay for it. He was nothing.

"I said goodbye three days ago."

_Jack's hand closed over Gideon's as he lowered the lever slowly. "You don't need to use so much strength on this one," he murmured in the man's ear and smiled as he felt the hand under his relaxing slowly. "That's it. No need to do that all the time; the ship mostly flies itself. If you apply enough pressure in the right moment, though, it gets even better."_

"_Jack." Gideon scolded, his voice firm, but the Captain couldn't help but let his smile widen when his partner licked his lips without even realizing it. "Not now."_

"_Why? You're doing great."_

_It was the first time Jack had let him fly the ship by himself, after four long months and all sorts of training. Gideon seemed to have a natural talent for piloting and the ship's control panel had basically become a part of his hands._

"_Flattery will get you nowhere."_

"_If I keep it up long enough, it might get me a planet where we can finally land this thing."_

_Whatever Gideon said in response was drowned by the sound of the alarm, which was going off with all its might._

"_What's going on?" Jack managed to shout over the deafening noise. There were about thirty kinds of alarms on the ship and, even though he'd been introduced to them when he took the job, he couldn't have been bothered to remember them all._

"_It's a crack." Gideon replied. "It happens every other year or so." When he noticed Jack's still blank expression, he raised his voice even more. "You know that Rift that went through Old Cardiff, the one you told me about? Well, of the Rift's the highway, then the cracks are those little muddy roads that lead you nowhere. All sorts of stuff come through; never anything relatively nice, though."_

_Someone was shouting in Jack's ear over the comm that he had to remain there, considering he was the senior pilot, and deal with the turbulence that would inevitably follow the passing through the crack, and that he also had to send Gideon on level zero – everyone who had any knowledge on the matter was obliged to go._

_Jack had protested and done a little shouting of his own, pointing out that id anyone here could deal with tears in time and space, it was him, but to no avail._

_If the situation were any different, he'd probably just ignore any orders he was given and go along with Gideon anyway, but as it was, half a billion lives depended on him and he couldn't make himself do anything but the right thing. Even if the right thing was to get back to the control panel._

"_I'll be back as soon as I can." Gideon said as an answer to Jack's unspoken worry. "A whole squad of aliens – call themselves Hoix or something. Should be done in no time." In a pretty unusual – for him, at least – gesture, Gideon kissed Jack's cheek briefly and turned around, looking for his gloves and then, after just a moment, looked back at him. "Jack, just in case something happens– It's not very likely, but just in case, I want you to know–"_

"_I know." Jack replied hastily. He had a starship to stabilise. It wasn't exactly the best moment for declarations of love._

"_Okay." If Gideon was disappointed, his voice didn't give it up. "See you later. Bye."_

_Jack flashed him a smiled over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Gideon."_

_He wasn't sure why he'd said it. Gideon was right, it wasn't a difficult mission. There weren't many things that could go wrong with it._

_And yet he said it. Just in case._

"I thought you'd want to see him. His body will be burned at ten in the morning, which is half an hour from now. It's your last chance." Celine's voice was almost begging now and he knew why – because she was well aware just how much he would regret not doing it later.

With a sigh, Jack set the ship to auto piloting once again and followed the woman to the lift without another word.

"They – some of the people who were there – told me he died in peace," she said softly as they paced down the corridor. "He didn't suffer. The bullet went straight to his heart. His brother was next to him the whole time."

Jack's step faltered. "Gideon didn't have a brother."

Celine shrugged. "A cousin, then? I'm not sure, but I was supervising the cameras by that time. If it weren't for the uniform, I wouldn't've been able to tell them apart."

Jack just nodded at her to continue, intrigued. There should have been no one on the place where the crack had opened. No one save for soldiers.

"The guy was wearing a suit, can you believe that? Who wears suits nowadays? His haircut was also funny-looking. Dunno what he was doing down there and who let him in, but he seemed pretty beaten up."

Jack had turned her off completely by the time when Celine realised where they were and also that she had to stop talking. "Sorry." She whispered again, touching his shoulder gently. "See you later."

The words made things even worse, but Jack didn't show it. He just lowered himself to the ground, finally allowing himself to mourn.

He couldn't run away now. He couldn't just run away; not anymore.

Gideon was just like them all in his death – Jack still didn't like the idea of reincarnations, but he didn't know what else to call it. He looked peaceful and content despite the bloody wound in his chest; his eyes closed and his whole posture relaxed. His gun was lying next to him.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered, even though there was no one left to hear him. "I should have come with you. Who cares about the ship, I could have saved_ you_. I'm so sorry."

"Me too." The voice that came from behind him belonged everywhere through his own timeline but here – or that was what logic told him. Bu then again, nothing in the owner of that voice (who was currently lying dead in front of him) had been something logic tended to apply to.

Jack turned back to face the man, who was leaning against the doorframe, in his charcoal grey suit that had tears all over it, and hands and face that were covered in wounds and scratches that seemed deep enough to leave scars.

Despite the pleasant, empty fog that had descended over Jack's mind – some distant part of it told him that it was probably the shock – Ianto didn't seem at the least surprised to see him.

"I really am." He continued. "I did everything I could to save him."

_Now wait, wait, wait for me_

_Please hang around_

_I'll see you when I fall asleep_

_Don't listen to a word I say_

_The screams all sound the same_

Ianto made his way to Jack slowly, as if approaching a scared animal.

"I'm sorry for your loss." His voice was careful and his eyes distant. "He seemed nice. Not very bright, mind; thought I was an angel coming to take him." He made that half-impressed, half-patronising face that he usually adopted when he wasn't sure if someone's stupidity was intriguing enough to be worth mentioning or just plain annoying. "He picked up pretty quickly after that, though; understood what was happening."

"But I don't," Jack finally managed. He had heard things about the state he was in, he had seen people experiencing it, and yet for him, it was completely new. His whole body was cold and he was trembling without being able to control it. He wasn't able to think properly because it was too much. This time, it was too much.

Death after death after death. Hundreds of people he loved dying; his own deaths standing clearly in his mind. Nothing constant; nothing real. Nothing that lasted. He had convinced himself for over two thousand years that Ianto could be the one thing, the one person that always came back. He never asked questions, never tried to force this whole thing to make sense. He just relished it while it was there, and every time, their death felt like a blow straight to Jack's heart. Always violent and premature and so _pointless,_ sometimes his fault, sometimes their own, and always so painful.

And here Ianto stood, calm and collected and _alive_, and Jack just couldn't take it.

"Ianto?" He insisted, his voice desperate.

"The Rift," Ianto replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "When I fell through, I ended up on this God-forsaken planet. They had Rift manipulators – actual, working ones – and when I opened it, I heard them talking about humans– almost twenty alien languages, remember?" The last part was addressed to Jack's raised eyebrows. He vaguely wondered how he could still be curious about anything anymore – be it alien languages or not. "I just went along with them – well, by 'went along', I actually mean 'hid in the bushes and jumped with them in the last moment'."

Another curious thing – Ianto had initiated a pretty long story. Then Jack recalled that the man talked a lot when he was nervous.

It was about time the Captain came to his sense. He felt as if he was shaking off a blanket that had fallen over his mind; one that he could finally get rid of, although slowly.

"You ended up on their _planet_? For how long have you been there?" He didn't seem too seriously hurt, and yet a few injuries could still be seen all over him and there was still that look in his eyes – like their conversation wasn't even getting to him. Jack could almost see his brain working on full power, just like it usually did, and taking in every little detail.

"Four, five days." Ianto shrugged, distracted, as he tried to assimilate his surroundings. "I'm not sure. Their days and nights seemed longer. My watch adapts to the date, but not to weird 28-hour clocks." He lifted his hand and Jack saw the date written on the bottom, under the watch's hands – 27th December 4494. "Who knew it would hold that long," Ianto murmured, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. "What about you?"

"Three thousand years."

That seemed to take him off guard. Ianto instinctively glanced at the Vortex Manipulator on Jack's wrist. "I thought... When I heard about you here, I thought that you've fixed it somehow and–" His voice died. Jack shook his head.

"No. Almost a year ago, I was recruited as the pilot of Starship UK; I've been here ever since."

"_Three thousand years_." Ianto didn't seem to have picked up anything from the last few sentences. "God, Jack, I'm so sorry." Before Jack had the chance to say something, Ianto showed yet again his incredible talent at non-sequiturs and turned just gaze back to Gideon. "Who was he?"

Jack tried to focus properly as his attention was brought back to Gideon and the horror he had somehow managed to put down just a few minutes ago started rising up again. He tried to face the current truths in his life one by one, separating them from one another.

Fact one: Gideon was dead. He'd known that for three days, but it was truly getting to him right now.

Fact two: Ianto was here, not a bloody day older and acting kind of oddly. Not all that surprising, really.

Not helping. In no way was that helping.

"Gideon Holroyd," he said at last. "He was my co-pilot." Suddenly, a new thought got to him. "How did you know I was here?"

"He was talking about you," Ianto said and crouched next to the body to examine it. "It was so dark, I could barely see him, but he had some night vision tech. Freaked out at first, then grabbed my hand and told me to take care of you. I have no idea why– Oh my God." There was a sharp intake of breath and Jack looked up to see Ianto staring at Gideon's face; his own skin even paler than usual. "Jack?"

The tone made the Captain wince. It was the same he had heard in the House of the Dead after he had realised that he couldn't remember any recent details about his life; after he had realised that he was dead.

"Ianto, I–"

"He's–"

"I know."

"Oh my God."

"It's not the first time." Jack found himself being completely honest for the first time in longer than he could remember. "It's been happening since Greg, and maybe even before him. Maybe I just can't remember. I don't know how it works, but you're here. You're always here somehow."

"What does _Greg_ have to do with all of this?" At first Jack wondered how Ianto could even recall who Greg was, and then realised that for the other man, barely a year had passed since Tretarri.

"Didn't you see him?" Jack asked, desperate to make Ianto understand. "The Light formed his face, remember? He was just like you and then, when I saw you, I thought it was him and then there was James, exactly a millennium after your death, and Gideon three months ago and–"

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"Calm down."

He did his best.

"It's all right. Ianto left Gideon's side and approached Jack, kneeling in front of him. "You don't have anything to apologise for. I understand."

"I doubt it." Jack took shallow, shaky breaths as he felt himself shuddering. He wasn't even cold. Was it still the shock?

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Ianto asked carefully, his hand squeezing Jack's shoulder to make him focus. It was an old, startling gesture that probably helped more than many other things would. "I'd understand, it's been a while."

A while. Yes. Three thousand years for him, less than a week for Ianto. Very damn fair. And then Jack picked up where the man's speech was going.

"No!" Suddenly, his whole body and mind felt more alive than ever. "No," he repeated, quietly this time. "Don't leave me."

"Okay." Ianto sounded just as calm as usual, but his eyes showed some kind of relief and Jack wondered why. Did Ianto expect to be sent away?

Before he could say something, though, the door behind them opened and Celine – whose sense of tact had taken too much of a challenge for the day – walked in briskly.

"About time you were leaving," she said and Jack glanced at the watch on Ianto's wrist – 10:20 a.m. Meanwhile, the woman's eyes had turned to the younger man and she gave him a long look before realising what had happened. "Oh, you're the guy I saw on the camera!" Ianto nodded and Celine fished into her pockets for a scanner, which she then pointed straight at him.

"Relax," Jack said as he felt Ianto tense. "The ship's got full information on everyone on board. You're not on the list.

Celine's scanner was beeping away as she muttered something under her breath. "What happened to him?" She asked as it apparently got to the birth date.

"He felt through the Rift."

Yet another look at Ianto. "Doesn't look like a Hoix, though."

"He isn't," Jack pointed out, rather unhelpfully. Celine decided not to honour that with a response as she handed Ianto a sheet of paper that he scanner had just printed. Jack saw his eyes brighten up with curiosity at the new, unknown technology and, as he suddenly was brought back to Gideon's first day as a co-pilot, he wondered what exactly was he doing. This whole thing made even less sense than what usually happened in his life and he wondered how had he come to take it so easily. How had he gone all the way from his first meeting with Ianto after Greg and convincing himself that it was impossible to accepting it calmly, waiting for the next one to show up?

"The incineration of the body'll begin in five minutes." Celine was trying hard not to let her impatience show. Jack might have been irritated by it if he didn't know her – and her manic desire to always keep to her schedule – so well. "Do you want to stay here?"

"No." What was the point? He had said his goodbye when Gideon had been still alive and breathing, what was the point of seeing the shell that had remained burn? He went back to Gideon's side and kissed his forehead gently, murmuring a few words in his first language. He hadn't been anywhere near his birthplace in so long that the exact equivalent in English was gone to him, but it was always something he related to deep, quiet sorrow; losing someone you love and barely being able to express what you feel with words.

So many years, and Jack had seen people living and dying, and each one of them still seemed so big. Each one of them had their life and their mind and it never got easier. It never got insignificant.

When jack came out of the room, he found Ianto leaning against the wall outside and fiddling with his new identification card.

"Turns out I'm 2511 years old," he mused as he waved it at Jack. He managed a small smile. The main computer of Starship UK didn't consider the time travel when calculating its passengers's ages. Jack's ID card claimed that he was -568 and nothing could convince it otherwise, which in its own was a little paradox – the ship could find data for people from the future, but couldn't manage any information from the past to calculate their actual age.

"I went through the ship's story last night," Ianto went on and gave Jack a brief look. "There's no way out of here, is there?"

"No, sorry. And the crack's closed–"

"Why would I need it? I don't have anything to go back to. Back on Earth, in my own time, I've been dead for months."

Both their sentences were left hanging in the air and Jack could feel the silence throwing its shadow over them. He strongly suspected that he knew what was going on in Ianto's head – he was still nervous that too much time had passed and he wouldn't be wanted around any longer. For all of the confidence that everyone else seemed to notice in him, he did that a lot.

"You can come with me," Jack tried tentatively. He cleared his throat. Three thousand years, and conversations with twenty-first century humans didn't get any easier. "I – I'm in need of a co-pilot. I'm sure you'll manage it."

"I'm sure, too," Ianto said sincerely and Jack laughed as he pulled him in for a kiss. _That _was one of the things he had missed the most – the cool, dry statements without an ounce of pretence.

Ianto's lips curled into a pleased smile as Jack led the way back to the pilot's cabin and, for the first time in days, the Captain allowed himself a little hope.

It wasn't perfect. But it was everything.


End file.
